Dearth of a Salesman

Ladies, gentlemen, other. I am no longer a statistic.

This morning, I was phoned by Sky, and told my interview had been successful, so therefore I'll now be able to put "Murdoch Henchman" on my CV. After 4 months of desperately trying to get work, and suffering at the hands of the Department of Work and Pensions, and the spiteful cunts at HMV who wouldn't let me get on with my life, I'm finally getting out of the doldrums. As you can imagine, I'm extremely happy I got the job, and you'll probably realise how much when you know what I had to go through.

It's based in Cardiff Gate, which is a fucking nightmare to get to at the best of times, more so if you don't drive, like poor bastards such as myself who rely on public transport. In trying to work out my route there, I consulted the Wikipedia of map resources, Traveline. Here's the final part of the journey route they provided:

The green line from the bottom of the map is my route. The yellow square is where I had to get off the bus, by Asda. The white line along the red line is where I had to walk. Fairly standard stuff, no? Well, the red line's a dual carriageway. And it was snowing its arse off.

I had no choice. In my finery (well, my interview suit, black shirt, white tie; I looked like a nightclub bouncer who'd been kidnapped and left for dead at the roadside), I made my way along the dual carriageway, no trace of a pavement, just a muddy verge. Several police cars sped past. Luckily for me, there seemed to have been an assault or an armed siege somewhere, so I was small fry in comparison. To the sub-human scum that caused whatever horrific event made me 'not worth it', I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Anyway, after half an hour of nearly getting killed 3 times, I reached a pavement. Now I was lost. The map told me to go past a hotel. I saw a hotel. I went past it. I ended up in a Welcome Break services. I asked for directions, and was told to go past the other hotel that wasn't on the map, and that I couldn't see through snow-blasted eyes.

I finally made it there with minutes to spare. I joined my fellow applicants in the lobby, and immediately felt overdressed and fucking ancient. I was tired, freezing, in strange surroundings and, by comparison, old. That must've been what it feels like to be an elderly woman who can't pay her gas bill.

Moving on, part of the interview involved a maths test and a spelling test, which had to be done in 10 minutes. As I started the maths section, the left hand side of my face starting to spasm. I couldn't control the corner of my mouth or my eyelid. "Fuck," I thought, "I'm having a stroke." Seriously, having a stroke was the last thing I needed. It was actually neuralgia-related, brought on by the freezing weather I had to endure. I knew that it affected some of my answers, and I'm usually okay with mental arithmetic. At that point, I completely forgot the concept of numbers and the manipulation thereof. Spelling test, though: piece of piss.

After the interview, I left the building, and was happy to see a bus stop. I was less happy when I saw there wasn't a bus for a few hours. I spent the best part of an hour trying to find alternative routes back to Asda, which involved looking suspicious behind a nursery. Again, that was the last thing I needed. However, every conceivable path back to civilisation was fenced off. I had no choice.

Walking back down the dual carriageway was even more treacherous than before, since the traffic was heavier and heading directly for me. There seemed to be more bushes forcing me to walk directly onto the road this time around, too. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing. Mercifully, it had started pissing down with rain instead. I eventually made it home, wondering what I would do on a daily basis if they did offer me the job.

As it turns out, there's a free bus that goes there. So that's nice to know after the fact.

This comes months after losing my job with HMV and its bullying management (check back through December's blog posts to read the full story - it's the blog called Clusterfuck). If you ever get a job with HMV and you have kids, don't tell them. They'll hold your career back and promote fucking teenagers with no experience over you. The way they operate is wholeheartedly illegal and discriminatory, but if you question it, they'll make stuff up about positions not being available, or something about your performance. They only allow arrogant braggarts and bullies reach management level. I could tell you some nasty stories about some of them, but that's for another time. Stay tuned.

After losing my job, I had to start signing on. Extremely humiliating, and no matter how hard you genuinely try to find work, you're treated the same as the lazy bastards who've never worked in their lives and have no intention of doing so. Last month, after being unemployed for 3 months and having applied for what must've been upwards of 300 jobs, the DWP contacted me, telling me that they'd contacted HMV asking for details on my departure. They told them that I was "dismissed due to not opening the store on time, causing potential loss to the company". Since they're not allowed to give that (extremely biased and one-sided) version of events to possible employers, they shouldn't be allowed to give it to the DWP, particularly as they did not consult my version of events. Anyway, based solely on what my twisted, beaver-faced former manager told them, they stopped my JobSeeker's Allowance immediately with no warning. It did not matter to them that I have two young children, nor that I was actively seeking work (with plenty of proof to back it up). We were left solely with my wife's income, which just about covers mortgage and bills. I appealed straight away, pleading poverty and starvation, amongst many other reasonable things, and I'm still waiting. So, I went from being dole scum to being just scum. I was told I could apply for a hardship allowance, which I did. I'm still waiting for that too. They still expected me to sign on, which I did. They then expected me to sign on weekly instead of fortnightly. I enquired how I was supposed to get to job interviews, and even to get to the Job Centre, with no JSA to pay for travel. I was told to apply for a hardship allowance. I could see I was getting nowhere. They're supposed to be there to help you, but they treat you as if you're on a production line. You're not an individual, you're a statistic, and family people like myself are treated abominably. Some people know how to work the system (if anybody from the DWP is reading this, I will be more than happy to provide the identity of two benefits cheats I know who work the system very well). The lesson appears to be: never, ever tell the truth, or you'll get chewed up and spat out.

After I was told I had the Sky job this morning, I had a phone interview with AA. I didn't get it, possibly because I told them I was looking forward to working with drunks.

Not really.

The real reason is this. The interviewer asked me about my previous employment, and was keen to know why I left. I felt compelled to tell the truth. I told her about the bullying, and she seemed genuinely sympathetic. I told her about the way I'd been treated by HMV, but it wasn't reflective of my entire time with the company. I genuinely used to love my job, and had seven successful years with them, and I made them a lot of money. She asked the official reason for my departure, so I told her. She terminated the interview, telling me that it wasn't their policy to employ people who've been dismissed from a job. Idiots.

I suppose I'm an idiot for being too honest. My wife thought so when I told her.

Still, I've got a job now. Fuck you, AA. Fuck you, DWP. And, most especially, a wholehearted fuck you, HMV. I've got Murdoch Henchman on my CV after you now, and you can't hurt me or my family any more.

There. I feel better now.

The Sound of Drums

Some people call me cynical. Yeah, I know, where do they get these crazy ideas? A lot of things annoy me. Lots of TV annoys me. I cannot bear the celebrity culture we find ourselves in. I can't stand the smug self-importance of [insert bland insipid television presenter here]. I hate it when things you love turn into something you hope gets better. I found that Mock the Week with Frankie Boyle was a show that was a heavily scripted, non-improvised topical satire show masquerading as a panel show, which made me laugh out loud as everybody tried to out-funny said comedian. I find that Mock the Week without Frankie Boyle is a heavily-scripted topical satire show masquerading as a panel show, and the convenient topics for the stand-up bits are more obviously than ever an outlet for segments of their existing stand-up material (I can spot a lot of Russell Howard's bits as segments from his show, and Sarah Millican's last appearance was identical to bits from her Live At The Apollo set), whilst Andy Parsons reminds me more and more of Stone Cold Steve Austin after suffering a mild stroke, leading him to channel the spirit of Griff Rhys Jones. I used to love the show, but losing Boyle has de-clawed it somewhat. Having the comedy Kryptonite of Patrick Kielty in the first episode of the new series has probably tainted my opinion of the show. Cynical? Me? Not a bit of it.

I came to a realisation recently. I love EastEnders. Re-read that last sentence. Not a trace of sarcasm or bitterness. It's just celebrated its 25th anniversary, and I realised that, on and off, I have been watching it since the very first episode back in 1985. It's very easy to mock the soaps and look down on them, as I think some of the snobbery of some parts of the entertainment industry has filtered its way down into public opinion (because, as I think we've well established, other people are invariably idiots, except you, obviously), but watching the live episode on Friday, it was clear that these are some very talented actors. I have to single out Jake Wood, who I was first aware of as Killcrazy in Red Dwarf VIII, who was fantastic in his portrayal of Max Branning when Bradley died. Superb, as was the fact they kept the identity of Archie's killer secret (from the viewers and the cast) until the very last moment of the episode.

In EastEnders Live: The Aftermath, George Lamb, the only person in the UK to be named after two pubs, told Charlie Clements (Bradley), still with fake blood around his noggin, who the killer was. The Aftermath show was great for two things. One, it allowed Larry Lamb (Archie) to make a rape joke (which mysteriously vanished in the repeat), and two, it allowed June Brown (Dot) to show up George Lamb as the twat he is, visibly flustered by her frank answers. Bless her. As well as being a wonderful actress, she's now my hero.

So, EastEnders. It has a reputation of being miserable, yet it is one of the most successful and popular programmes this country has ever produced. It has a streak of black humour running right through it, which I greatly appreciate, and as the live show demonstrated, has some of the best actors in the country. Over the years, it has (sometimes heavily-handed, admittedly) educated the public about many 'issues', from teenage pregnancy, to homosexuality, to racism (does anyone remember when dear old Jim Branning was a shameless bigot when it came to his son-in-law, Alan?), to HIV/AIDS, to rape. Some might say that too many murders, deaths and general ill happen in Albert Square. Well, it's a serial drama, not an accurate portrayal of real life. If you want attention seeking fuckers playing up to the camera, watch one of the inept 'reality' shows that spread throughout the schedules like a cancer.

EastEnders can be a little heavy handed, as I've said. Sometimes, they'll bring a character in and really force them to fit and be accepted. Thanks to the revolving door of executive producers, you'll get a cull of characters that have outlived their usefulness every couple of years, yet sure as eggs is eggs, you'll always get another Mitchell or two shoehorned in. I'm sure if Leslie Grantham hadn't been so keen to suck his finger on an insecure net connection, Den Watts would still be around. No programme is perfect, and EastEnders is no exception, but when it gets it right, it does it exceptionally well.

I've never watched Coronation Street. Not once. As I said once before, I told a former acquaintance this, only for me to be told "don't be stupid". It's true, though. I'm sure avid viewers of (ahem) 'Corrie' (sigh) love it for whatever reason, but it's just never appealed to me. I think it's the theme tune and that fucking cat on the roof, they always put me off when I was a kid. Still, if Sir Ian McKellen wanted to be in it so badly, it can't be that bad, can it?

I've watched EastEnders for 25 years. Aside from when I was at university when I had no TV, I've watched most episodes. Without a trace of cynicism, I think it's brilliant. I have fond memories of the show, and love it when old characters return and interact with newer ones; I'm looking forward to Kat and Alfie coming back. They were great. I recently saw a clip of Civvy Street, the 1988 Christmas special set during World War II. It was just like watching Rock & Chips, only funnier. I think they should have shown that, as well as the first ever episode, during the anniversary celebrations, but one thing I'm not is a television scheduler, nor am I level-headed. So, EastEnders. I love it. I love it that much that I won't use the phrase "duff duff" to sully it. I still can't believe that Laila Morse (Big Mo) is Gary Oldman's sister, though.

Anyway, for those waiting for Destinauts, I know I've promised it here and there, but personal life stuff has managed to get in the way quite a bit. I've been working hard on it though, and currently I reckon it'll début in March. Here, though, is the first bit of preview art. To tie in with today's overall theme, meet Cynicus...

Have a pleasant day.

You'll Like This, But Not A Lot, Davros.

Yesterday, the BBC released a new promotional image for the forthcoming Matt Smith era of Doctor Who, which got fanboys very excited indeed. However, it's been somewhat overshadowed by the leaking of an image that was found down the back of John Nathan-Turner's fridge, dating from 1987. It features his choice of successor to Colin Baker, along with an assortment of colourful characters the Seventh Doctor would meet. Had the proposed star not been trying to get Hollywood funding for a Wizbit movie at the time, things might have been very different.

Aside from JNT's favourite motif, the excess of question marks on the Doctor's costume, the clothing was just a modification of Paul Daniels's own suit he wore on his top-rated magic show. The fact that Steven Moffat has opted for a toned-down variation for the Eleventh Doctor is not too much of a surprise; later in the 2010 series, we've been promised a return of the Kandyman and Sabalom Glitz. Hale and Pace are due to reprise their roles as the hilarious shopkeepers from Survival, and we can also look forward to the return of Ken Dodd's Tollmaster. "John Nathan-Turner was a very successful producer on Doctor Who," said Moffat yesterday, "and he's got his detractors, but he must've done something right to be in charge of the show for so long. What we're looking to do is emulate parts of his era, which means plenty of returning monsters, like the Tetrap and the Kitlings. We've recently found the original props and costumes for these in a skip, so they'll be back on your screens intact very shortly. Kids will never look at cats in the same way again."

Something that JNT was fond of was shoehorning light entertainment stars into episodes of Doctor Who, and Moffat is keen to return to this noble tradition (more so than Russell T Davies did, anyway). Soon, we'll be seeing Bruce Forsyth's Borusa, Christopher Biggins as the Meddling Monk, and Bernie Nolan as the Rani. "I have as much respect for the Time Lords as my predecessor, so it's only right we do them justice," says Moffat.

So, a bold new era for the 47 year old show. It might have been so different had they not discovered JNT's promo sheet.

Paul Daniels was unavailable for comment. Nor was his assistant, the lovely Debbie McGee.

Revealed: Behind The Scenes Of The Archie Mitchell Murder Investigation

Thanks to Danny John-Jules for the inspiration. :)

Happy Collop Monday, One And All!

Welcome to the weird little stop-gap between Valentine's Day and Shrove Tuesday. It's perfect for people rejected in love, because they can legitimately comfort eat to their heart's inevitable failure. Some call this convergence of two seemingly unconnected events 'natural selection'.

Here's some Valentine's Day facts:

• Vernon Kay singlehandedly catapulted the UK out of recession last week. Thorntons, Vodaphone and Interflora are said to be "delighted".
• Too many butchers miss a sales opportunity on Valentine's Day. A bit of clever merchandising could get shot of all those sheep hearts.
• Everybody is compelled to get into the spirit of the day by feasting on as many human hearts as possible. If this doesn't make you more romantic, it does at least get you in touch with your inner Klingon.
• As of today, everyone can delight in the incompetence of certain over-zealous HMV managers, now struggling with their vast overstocks of unsold (and now unsellable) love songs compilations they ordered without sale-or-return deals in place. Bastards.
• As ever, Frank Sinatra sales were up. Nothing like a bit of Ol' Blue Lips on Valentine's Day. *Other dead crooners with Mafia ties are available.
• Don't forget, you can turn your Valentine's Card upside down and re-use it for St Arse's Day.
• Don't worry if you didn't get a card. The greetings card industry will create more opportunities for disappointment over time.
• You only have to buy Valentine's cards once, in theory. If you trick that person into dating then marrying you, job done.
• Not romantically inclined but still get 'those' urges? Just save your money for St Fuckbuddy's Day.
• Judge the personality and greed of your prospective Valentine by seeing her reaction to foregoing a restaurant for a ready meal.
• Being shot through the heart by a naked flying baby is some people's idea of romance. There are specialist sites for this, apparently.
• Dates are difficult to get through, expensive for what they are, and can leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Good in cakes, though.
• Remember, some people don't like kidnapping, so you may have to rethink your Valentine's Day plans for next year.
• For every bear sold for Valentine's Day, Clinton Cards execute a real grizzly bear.
• "Valentine" is an anagram of "An Evil Net". Just a coincidence.
• Be careful: "Will you be my Valentine?" is an MI5 trigger phrase for executing the nearest ten people to yourself by snipers.
• The British government are encouraging Mormonism to drive the economy through Valentine's Day.
• Vernon Kay leaves his cards signed with a "?" for 2 reasons. It's just in case Tess finds out, and because he can't spell his name.
• Alex Zane marks all of his Valentine's card envelopes "return to sender".
• Guantanamo Bay is being replaced by the recently discovered Cupid Snare found in the Neverland Ranch.
• Valentine's Day was started by late actor Valentine Dyall, and was originally about Masonic handshakes.
• A romantic and a Roman tic are two different things, but both can involve togas.
• February is a short month, so that you can get to payday quicker after spending your entire wages on anonymously-signed cards and highly-flammable bears instead of food.

Anyhoo, hope you had a good Valentine's Day either way, and if you were hoping for success but it didn't happen, didn't get upset by the heavy commercialism informing you that February 14th is the only day in the year you can get your end away.

So, in preparation for Pancake Day...

• Chris Brown loves Pancake Day. The things that man can do with a good batter.
• "Don't forget the pancakes on Jif Lemon Day" was a slogan for the Altzheimer's Society.
• The art of pancake flipping was invented by Stuart Hall for It's A Knockout, as was making royalty look like cunts.
• If you feed a chicken the right ingredients, its eggs will contain ready-made pancake batter.
• PANCAKE stands for Protocol Activation: Non-Christ-Associated Kulinary Exercise.
• Pancakes are omelettes for the greedy.
• It is illegal to make pancakes on any other day of the year.
• Ash Wednesday is about the various houses that have been burned down from people who aren't used to cooking anything more complicated than toast.
• Syphon off a little petrol from your neighbour's car to make sure your pancakes are cooked thoroughly and quickly.
• If you don't have a frying pan (or your gas has been cut off), simply pour the mixture into a toaster.
• If you're not adventurous, you could always prepare yourself a Findus Crispy Pancake. Make sure it's not a beef one.
• When you inevitably start vomiting, try not to think that you've been dragged into yet another mass-event that you don't know or care about the origin of.
• Loved one in prison after 'that' event on Valentine's Day? A pancake is a great way of hiding a file for those pesky bars.
• On Shrove Tuesday, pancakes can actually be used as legal tender in any shop, apart from Wilkinson's.
• Addicted to pancakes, but want to quit? You can get patches from any pharmacy that will allow controlled amounts of yolk, albumen, glucose, citric acid and saturated fat into your bloodstream.
• If that doesn't work, you can always run these phrases through your head like a mantra: "fat bastard", "it came out of a chicken's arse", "there's that tingling in your left arm again", "I can't get what Edwina Currie said out of my head", and "oh, fuck, I just thought of Edwina Currie, and now I've got a picture of her and John Major in my head."

Hope you enjoy tomorrow. Whatever your faith (or lack thereof), we must all celebrate the time that Jebus used up all the crap left in his fridge and cupboard before payday.

What's "Pair Of Light-Entertainment Bastards" in text speak?

Oh noes! There's trouble in paradise. TV's golden (well, more sort of bronzey-orange) couple have hit a snag. Apparently, self-styled ITV mannequin/cheeky chappy/talent acid Vernon Kay has been sending flirty text messages to (ahem) 'glamour model' Rhian Sugden behind his wife Tess Daly's back. The blokey, arrogant, gruff Northern half of the couple is understandably upset at her husband's behaviour. Perhaps it's just the revelation that he's able to string a couple of words together.

Vernon 'n' Tess. I thought it would last forever. Who'd have guessed it was a career-friendly sham marriage-of-convenience made in light entertainment hell?

Anyway, here are some facts and speculations:

• It seems that the odds of getting a text from Vernon Kay are the same as being the next Sugababe. Fingers crossed!
• Perhaps the lure of a yoghurt saleswoman with a lobotomy scar wasn't enough for Our Vern.

• I can't wait for the Kay/Daly divorce so she can appear on Loose Women and he can have a breakdown in the jungle.
• Tess Daly. Rhian nightly.
• Northern tosser Kay admits to reusing the same message over and over. "But 'garlic bread' is comedy gold!" he admits.
• Maybe Vernon found out his wife's full name is Tess Tickle-Daly.
• Vernon's slowly but surely getting through the 2001 Census. It could be you!
• I wonder if Tess ever advertised natural yoghurt.
• I see Vernon and Tess are being dignified and tactful. Perhaps Kay Burley should interview them.
• It's the curse of Family Fortunes. It destroys light entertainment marriages of convenience.
• This could seriously affect Vernon's career. He was only 10 years away from graduating from ITV lowest common denominator fodder.
• I wonder if Vernon will join Josh's Band. Maybe he'll use his free minutes and texts for something else. That crazy Vernon!
• Wonder what network he's on. It might be t'Mobile. Doubt if it's Virgin.

Wait, I've just got a message.

Wd lk 2 mt up l8r.

Oh, Vernon, you silver-tongued twat.

Show me where he touched you

Amidst all the kerfuffle at the tail end of last week with Blair, something else major was about to launch itself upon the world. You cannot have failed to notice the announcement of the next bit of must-have touch-screen technology, causing the internet and every news channel to melt with excitement.

Yes, the Sinclair ZX Tablet is nearly here.

Since Sir Clive Sinclair won back his namesake brand in a fight in a pub car park behind some bins, the world at large has been on tenterhooks for a significant announcement. Last week, we finally saw his new baby, the first machine to bear the prefix "ZX" since the Spectrum +3 was discontinued in 1990.

It bears touch screen technology, a whopping 48k RAM of memory, and, tellingly, the famous Sinclair "rainbow" branding in the corner. "Oh, yes, that," says Sir Clive, "that was my way of saying, 'fuck you, I'm back, and I mean business'."

Seeing it up and running is a nostalgic delight. The first thing we notice is that it's connected up to a cassette player. "Anyone can see that CD sales are down," he says, "it doesn't take a fucking genius to see that if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Tapes worked fine in my day. Plus, tapes aren't as wide as CDs, so it stands to reason that they're easier to carry around." He loads up a specially-commissioned version of Windows Vista, a bumper package of 58 individual cassettes.

"Of course," he continues, "you can always buy a Microdrive, which will cut down on loading times, but one major benefit that this system has is that I'm able to prepare a four-course meal whilst I'm waiting. FROM SCRATCH."

One reasonable lasagne later, it's finally loaded, so we can see the sort of thing it's capable of. We ask him about the system specifications. "Well, the 48k memory is plenty, we feel. We were going to go for the full 128k, but in order to supply an affordable machine, we had to scale back somewhat. Plus, the touch screen technology takes up a lot of space, so there just wasn't the room. Anyway, nostalgia's a big thing. People will see the classic Sinclair branding and look past needless excesses."

My attention returns to the screen, and it's like the last 28 years never happened.

The screen is touched, and it scrolls again. Somehow, I hit the BREAK key that isn't there.

This gives me a chance to see whether BASIC is unchanged since when I used to sit in my bedroom, typing in commercially-unsuitable programs of my own.

Somehow, it had taken the best part of an afternoon to load 3 lines of BASIC. So, the program's run again, and the next cassette is loaded. I'm promised that I'll like what I see.

Eventually, we're presented with some sort of email software, called ZX Mail. However, there was no room to install wifi capability, but SirClive has thought of everything, producing a modem (Sinclair rainbow-branded, of course) which plugs neatly in. Connecting it to a nearby phone point, I witness its full 33.3k power. Finally, I'm invited to sign in with my email address. Sir Clive then places a transparent rubber sheet onto the screen, an approximation of an old Spectrum keyboard printed thereon. It's just like typing on the old 'rubber beermat' Spectrum 48k. Only smaller.

So, yes, it does connect to the internet. Sir Clive is quite excited by the possibilities. "Yes, it'll be a great way of getting software." I question him on whether the 48k memory will house these downloaded games. "Oh, no, downloading's too costly. If you email us, we'll send print-outs in the post of programs you can type in."

Apparently, all of the old Spectrum peripherals are compatible with the Tablet. But, the rumour about it not being Flash-compatible, therefore unable to access YouTube, has to be addressed. "Let me show you something," he scoffs, and tries loading a cassette.

After 3 attempts at loading, he finally held the 'play' button down halfway, and we're greeted with 1984 classic, Chuckie Egg. He excitedly points out the main character as he walks around. "That's better than any animation. Okay, we only have 8x8 UDGs, but with a small screen, it looks like a movie. YouTube's irrelevant. How d'you like them apples?"

When asked about basic utility packages, such as art software, he resets the Tablet, and types CIRCLE 20,20,20. I'm convinced. When asked about word processing software, he says, "I'll show you a fucking word processor."

It works, too. In conclusion, he says, "That's right. I'm back, bitch."

I make my excuses and leave.

Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday, you will be a real boy.

You may have noticed Your Former Leader being grilled for six solid hours the other day. The moment everybody had been waiting for (apparently), the chance to get reminded of his insincere rictus wasteland of a face, came in the form of the Chilcot Inquiry (aka The Iraq Inquiry). As you can see, he took it very, very seriously.

I won't go into the politics. I don't want to drag this place down any further than it already is. Suffice to say, he spent the whole time playing the air accordion, that ever-present defensive tone in his voice. Defensive Tone was probably his nickname in Cabinet meetings. He stuttered and spluttered his way through quarter of a day's worth of questions, his hands flailing hither and thither, quoting his answers back like Gareth Gates had written his notes, all the while being interviewed by, amongst others, Sir Lawrence Freedman, a man who so closely resembled a shaved Jimmy Greaves, I half expected Ian St John to pop up next to him and piss himself silly.

We don't need to go into the ins and outs. We know what it's about. I don't think any of us were expecting Blair to 'fess up anything out of the ordinary, despite being faced by the Iraq Inquiry panel, who even have their own logo like the fucking Justice League. If nothing else, it reminded us of the initial bright hope then painful disappointment of the Blair Years. At least we didn't have to see his postbox-faced Dementor of a wife.

Today, we learned that the Inquiry are recalling Blair because, surprise surprise, some of his evidence contradicts that of Lord Goldsmith. Clare Short is due to give evidence too, which should be fun. Apparently, Gordon Brown was in one of his fall-outs with Blair over the Iraq war, and he was threatening to join Short on the backbenches if his rumoured transfer to the Foreign Office were true. I'm looking forward to hearing more about this; on the run-up to an election, it's the last thing Brown needs. He'd need a spin doctor to whirl like a fucking dervish. Anyway, I mentioned this on Facebook earlier, only for one of my friends to state "Yes, I'd like Saddam Hussein back too." Yes, it would be terrible to have an unelected leader under a regime that's largely responsible for the veil of terror that covers the land, whilst its people despair under increasing poverty and worsening living conditions, whilst its elite reap the rewards.

Ho, ho. See what I did there?

Anyway, it should be fun, watching Clare Short bitch about her former boss. It's only a shame that her fellow conscientious objector, Robin Cook, has passed on. But, you know, it's not for everyone, sitting down and watching hour upon hour of a hated man squirming on the BBC's live news feed on their site. I just wish Paxman was on the panel.

The BBC asked me if they could use my Tweets on their page, but they never did use them in the end. Bah. Still, to make up for it, I won a caption competition run by Noel Clarke (Mickey Smith in Doctor Who) on Twitter. He chose my entry as the winner, so I've won a poster. Woo-hoo! First bit of good luck I've had all year. I know it's only just February, but you take what you can get. This leads me to two separate things. Firstly, mainly at the request of @lusty1970 on Twitter, the Caption Competition returns later this week, so keep an eye out for that.

Secondly, I need your help. I'm desperately trying to get a copy of Doctor Who Magazine issue 417:

I cannot find it anywhere, and don't fancy spending ten quid on eBay for a copy. It's only out for a few more days, but if any of you in the UK can find a copy, post a comment to this thread to let me know, and I'll reimburse you for the item and postage. Thank you, I desperately need a copy.

Sorry I've not been around much lately, I've been working on Destinauts. I'm aiming for a launch this weekend. Full details to follow.

Have a splendid evening. :)